Sunday, September 14, 2008

My Poems...

My poems, written early, when I doubted
That I could ever play the poet's part,
Erupting, as though water from a fountain
Or sparks from a petard,

And rushing as though little demons, senseless,
Into a sanctuary, where incense spreads,
My poems about death and adolescence,
--that still remain unread! --

Collecting dust in bookstores all this time,
Where no one comes to carry them away,
My poems, like exquisite, precious wines,
Will have their day!
(May 1913)

Marina Tsvetaeva
Translated by Andrey Kneller


Blogger Tobie said...

First time I've ever heard petard without hoisted.

September 15, 2008 10:16 AM  
Blogger e-kvetcher said...

Yes, translations are evil, but we can't all learn Russian, can we?

Etymology: Middle French, from peter, to break wind, from pet expulsion of intestinal gas, from Latin peditum, from neuter of peditus, past participle of pedere, to break wind; akin to Greek bdein to break wind. (Merriam-Webster) Petard remains a French word meaning a firecracker today (in French slang, it means joint). (wikipedia)

September 15, 2008 12:04 PM  

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